The flickering light from a single candle did little to illuminate the tower's interior as Matin hurriedly prepared some ointment from what little materials he could find stored inside. He could hear the icy wind blowing outside and hunched his shoulders a little in a futile attempt to keep warm. His hands shook as he worked.
He hadn't noticed at first. His mother had climbed the rope ladder fast enough to avoid being pulled down by the mass of monsters below. She had insisted that he go first, and Matin didn't have the time to argue. After that, they had spent a few minutes organising their supplies and getting a fire going. Once they had finished setting everything up, Marianne collapsed onto a bed of hay, covering herself with a leftover blanket.
Matin figured it was just exhaustion. He felt that way too, so it wouldn't have been surprising in the least. However, soon after his mother developed a fever and her breathing became labored. She denied anything was wrong for an hour or two, but she couldn't hide under the blankets forever. It didn't take long for Matin to discover that her body was covered in wounds. Some were so deep that he wondered how she had hidden them this long.
Sudden panic quickly turned to anger towards his mother, and he actually shouted at her before running off to find some medicine he had left in the tower during their first visit.
"That's my Matin, always well-prepared and reliable. I'm so happy you turned out this way."
Those were Marianne's soft words to him as he climbed the ladder to the next level. They sounded gentle. When was the last time he had heard his mother speak like that?
As he worked, a memory came back to him. It was not long after his father died. His mother was attending a council of the nobility at the capital. Apparently, it was just a routine council meant to discuss taxes and laws of various kinds.
"You may have been allowed on the council, but that is only as a representative for your son and temporary replacement for your deceased husband. Don't think to overstep your bounds by making these suggestions. Stay silent."
Matin had managed to catch a glimpse of the meeting just as an old, fat, bearded man was speaking to his mother. Her suggestion had been a logical one. One that would improve the productivity of the silver mines in her domain, but her words were shot down immediately by an uncaring council of older men.
"Worry not, dear." His mother had said after he got angry on her behalf. "Someday, those men will bow to you, and you will be a man your father would have been proud of."
That same kindly tone, rarely used unless she was alone with him or his father. That was the tone in which she spoke to him now as she lay on a bed of hay enduring the pain of multiple gaping wounds.
There was a period after his father had died when their family had almost lost everything. His mother suffered then, and she had lost that kindness to bitterness as she was taken advantage of repeatedly. Matin knew from a young age what he had to do, and that had not changed since. He would become the man his mother wanted and show her she had been right to put her hopes in him.
Oscar's rebellion had happened soon after, and as thanks for backing his claim to the throne, Marianne was granted the full power of a count. A rarity for a woman. However, despite the honor given to her, the discrimination never really stopped. She had to work twice as hard to keep her subjects in line.
And so Matin studied and worked. Every single day, every single minute. Whenever he had the energy. He worked to improve himself. Desperate to be the best person he could be, he worked with as little rest as he could manage.
It had all been going so well. He had made it all the way to the final exams without a single incident and was about to become the most esteemed young noble in the empire.
Wait, was that really true? Had everything truly gone without incident?
"Just what in the Goddess' name has been happening to me?" he asked himself as he gathered the medicine in his arms.
His voice was shaky, and there was a hint of disbelieving laughter in his tone.
Something wasn't right with him. The nightmares he experienced were all too real, and people close to him continued to disappear. Sometimes he would suddenly lose consciousness and wake up in a different place, just like now. How had Marianne been wounded and why had they left the safety of the library? To those questions, he had no answer.
He also saw something in his mother's eyes. Pity mixed with fear and determination. She was keeping something from him. Was it truly something so horrid that she couldn't confide in him? No, she knew best, so he would trust her, just as he always had.
When he returned, Marianne gave him a smile.
"When did you get the time to pack all that?" she asked.
He remained silent for a moment as he knelt down and slowly pulled the rough linen blanket off her. He grimaced as the wound came into full view. Blood was seeping into the hay even as he dabbed the ointment onto a cloth he had just finished washing.
"I thought we might need to come back here in an emergency so I left some behind when we left," he whispered softly as he applied the cream.
His mother winced slightly but gave no other sign of discomfort. The process of applying the salve usually came with great pain, so her lack of reaction was concerning. Then again, she was Marianne Evelyn. Perhaps the pain just didn't bother her.
Once he had finished, he wrapped the wound in some bandages and covered his mother with the blanket once again.
"You should try to get some rest," he said as he eyed the pile of hay that passed for a bed.
This wouldn't do at all. The hay was beyond dirty, as was everything in the round tower. Just why did they leave the safety of the library? Well, deep down, he knew the answer. It was probably because of him.
"I'll rest my eyes for a moment then, I suppose, but don't think I'm going to let you handle everything here on your own. You need to look after yourself, dear," she rasped through ragged breaths.
Despite her words, Marianne soon drifted off into restless sleep. Not having much else to do, Matin kept a close eye on her and her condition. All the while, a huge pang of worry and hopelessness assaulted his mind. Why? Why, after everything he had worked for, did it have to end in this cold, decrepit building? Hadn't he done enough? Hadn't his mother suffered enough?
He wondered if Dean had been right. Perhaps he could have done with taking it easy from time to time. No, Dean could never understand what Matin really wanted. Dean's view on life differed completely from his. He wondered whose outlook would lead to a better life. Perhaps there never was a right answer.
Marianne slept for an entire day after that. When she awoke, it took a long time for her to become lucid enough to speak.
"What time of day is it, dear?" she asked, her voice weak.
Matin stood up to peer out of a nearby arrow slit. There was still enough light to see the snowy landscape, but it was quickly becoming darker.
"It's late evening. It'll be dark soon," he replied.
Marianne's eyes, which had been heavily lidded, shot open as she tried to sit up.
"You shouldn't move, Mother," Matin yelled as he quickly placed his hands on her shoulders.
She struggled against him and, not wanting to put any more strain on her, he quickly backed off.
"Matin dear, I must remain awake. I must," she said through gritted teeth and heavy breaths.
To fight against her injuries in such a foolish manner suggested that there was a very good reason. His mother was no fool, and he suspected that the reason lay with him.
"In that case, at least try to eat something. I've made some porridge with honey."
It was just about all he could manage with the meager supplies left within the tower.
Marianne smiled.
"I'm so lucky to have you, dear."
Matin nodded gratefully and brought the bowl over to his mother.
"Reminds me of the breakfasts we had after your father died," she whispered after eating a small mouthful. "Food for the peasantry isn't all that bad."
Soon after, she became oddly insistent that he get some sleep. In the past, it had all been under the pretense of getting enough sleep so that he could perform better during his exams, but that was no longer relevant. Now, she merely worried for his health even as she suffered so much more.
Despite his protests, he couldn't fight the wave of drowsiness that soon followed. It was strange. Why was he so tired suddenly? Even with things being as they were, he shouldn't be this tired.
His mind was soon engulfed in darkness.
Flashes of images. Hordes of ghouls, goat men, and wraiths were being torn apart, and he was the one doing it. A forest, he was searching for something in the forest. From the shadows, a goat man charged at him, but he caught its horns with his own hands and twisted its head clean off. A ghoul leapt at him, jaws opening wide to bite down on his throat.
"Uaaaahhh!"
Clutching his neck, he awoke, panting. Looking around frantically, he could see a rounded wall and not much else. That's right, this was the round tower.
"Thank goodness," he sighed.
The sound of laboured breathing reached his ears. He turned towards the source of the sound to find his mother lying down nearby. She glanced at him with lidded eyes before closing them.
"Mother?" he asked, getting up. Light shone in through the arrow slit, signaling the arrival of morning. He must have slept through the night. He quickly leaned forward to check Marianne, who had once again slipped into unconsciousness. She was just sleeping, though her fever hadn't improved in the slightest and she looked dreadfully pale. Her usually well-styled red hair was now a sweaty mess.
He took some time to tend to her. Once he was done, he collapsed against the cold stone wall of the tower. Lifting his shaking hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tightly. He took a few breaths, but no matter how many times he tried, he could not stop shaking.
"Why?" he asked.
The sound of the wind blowing outside was his only answer.
Even with the wound in her gut and a high fever, she was still watching over him, and he couldn't do anything but feed and nurse her in vain. Why couldn't he be useful for once? Was all that time and effort she put into him for nothing?
In his mind's eye, he could see all those who studied alongside him: Dean, Nicolas, Rosetta, and Sophia. They were laughing at him. Laughing at how utterly useless he was. Strange, he could hear their laughter as if they were in the tower with him. He didn't realise that the laughter was coming from him alone, the quiet empty tower echoing the noise.
"You really are broken to the core, aren't you? Not the most interesting person to take one's frustration out on, I have to admit."
Whether the voice was his own, someone else's, or a product of his frayed mind, Matin gave no indication that he heard it. His quiet, muffled sobs mixed with laughter were the only sounds that could be called a response.
Marianne's condition worsened as the day went on, and a foul smell wafted up from beneath her blankets. Matin should have checked the wound, but he was terrified to see what awaited him beneath the bandages. Meanwhile, her fever worsened, and the time she spent awake grew less and less frequent.
Matin spent a lot of time pacing back and forward in front of her. He needed help, but there was nobody he could turn to. He was pretty sure that, out of everyone who had survived until this point, he knew the most about medicine. Not that he was an expert by any stretch, but he knew Dean had never paid the subject much mind. The higher nobility tended to entrust that knowledge to their physicians.
He was trapped. There was no other way to put it. He turned to the bag of herbs that had turned up after the previous night. Where they had come from was still a complete mystery to him. The only possibility was that his mother had gone out to collect them, but that was surely impossible.
Tightening his fists until his knuckles turned white, he reached into the bag and pulled out any herb he recognised that might help. Strangely, they all seemed appropriate to use based on his surface-level knowledge. Some were to be ground up and placed in the bandage itself, while others were to be given to her orally to give strength or to help with the pain.
Swallowing deeply to prevent anything from spewing out from his stomach, Matin once again desperately got to work on saving his mother's life.
*
The world wouldn't stop spinning. No matter how many times she closed her eyes, she could not focus. Thankfully, the pain had vanished some time ago, though she knew that was likely not a good sign. She simply felt dizzy and tired. Even taking a breath took all the strength she had. How utterly pitiful.
Matin tended to her frequently. Every time she saw those eyes, bereft of hope, she felt like crying, though she hadn't the strength to do so. What good was she if she couldn't help him through this? He often spoke to her, but his words sounded like they were coming from a different room, so she simply smiled at him, hoping to convey the message that everything would be alright.
And so Marianne cursed her ineptitude. She had always prided herself on her excellence above others, but now she could not even take care of herself. That realisation was much more painful than anything an infected wound could inflict upon her.
"So this is where your road ends this time. Quite pathetic for a haughty woman like you. It almost makes me laugh, looking at how far you've fallen."
Strange, the words came to her ears, clear as a bell. She managed to turn her neck to the left and right, wondering if Matin was there. But no, that voice was familiar to her and belonged to a woman. Of Matin, there was no sign. Either he was on another floor, gone out to hunt, or she was simply in a fever dream.
Now, the cloaked woman stood high above her. From where she was lying, she could clearly see the woman's mouth, twisted upwards in a grin.
"Oh, does what I say vex you? Well, why don't you stand up and beat me to a pulp with those martial arts of yours, hmm?"
Marianne bit her lip at the woman's taunting. Her tone differed from the usual.
"I did… everything," she gasped. "You… said he… would be fine."
"What? Did you think absolute control would actually be good for his fragile mind?" The woman asked loudly, causing Marianne to flinch slightly. "Your fixation and heavy-handedness only made things worse for him in the end. Have you not seen the state he's in?"
The woman spoke with barely concealed excitement as if she were telling Marianne about some outstanding achievement. She barely let Marianne get a word in, not that something like arguing was even possible in her condition.
"You…said it would be… fine…if…if." Marianne rasped, baring her teeth at the woman in the only form of resistance she could manage.
The woman raised her foot and pressed it against Marainne's cheek, forcing the glare from her face. It didn't hurt, but she couldn't resist it either, as it pushed her face away.
"You know I hate looking at that cruel face of yours," the woman said in a bored tone. "And I did say that. Though it was your own fault for believing in a complete stranger who only visits you in your dreams. Honestly, you were more desperate than I thought! Funny how I once thought of you as untouchable."
The woman took her foot away and leaned close to her, a wide smile on her face.
"Matin only suffered because of you. You treated him like a golden goose, and yet your attentions only served to twist him into what he is now."
A phantom image of Matin sitting against the wall appeared. He was hugging his knees, and a sound, something like a mixture of sobbing and laughing, could be heard from behind his arms.
Marianne felt a single tear roll down her cheek. Was that really the case? If so, then what should she have done differently? Two things had always informed everything she did. Her love for Matin and her pride in herself. She had sworn long ago that she would do herself proud, that she would raise a happy family while ruling with excellence. She would show everyone what a woman who was merely 'keeping the seat warm' could do.
Had it all been a mistake? Could she not have had that much?
"Ha, well. Don't take it too personally. Matin is a mess of a man inside and out. I'm surprised you managed to rein him in for so long."
"Don't talk about him…like that, you bitch," Marianne responded through gritted teeth.
Her boy had endured so much suffering. Even so, he always put others before himself and was a reliable friend, from what she heard from Dean. She hadn't ever been anything less than proud of him. This witch was smearing his good name with empty insults.
"Even on death's door you still have some bite in you," Tatiana laughed. "Well then, let me tell you how to really subdue his curse."
The woman donned a smile that made Marianne almost certain she was going to spout more lies. Yet she listened. If there were even the slightest chance, then she had to know.
"For Matin's manifestation to vanish and cease its killings, then-" The woman paused, her smile growing wider. "Then either you or Dean has to die."
"What?" Marianne breathed.
What did Dean have to do with any of this?
"It's simple when you think about it, really," Tatiana said as she stood up. "Both you and Dean have been tugging at Matin in opposite directions since his childhood. Each of you trying to get him to become more like you. You both were tearing the boy apart, never paying attention to what he wanted."
The woman's voice seemed to grow quieter as she finished speaking. Slowly, she turned her back on Marianne as Marianne's sight began to lose focus.
"Although, at the same time, I doubt Matin himself has the backbone to live his own life without you two supporting him. Truly pathetic, right?"
With that final comment, the woman seemed to disappear into the shadows. Whatever lucidity Marianne had gained seemed to slip through her fingers like water. Her mind a blur, she could only experience feelings of regret and hopelessness. Her entire life had been a failure. She had brought Matin down with her. She had to do something to help him. She needed to-
*
Marianne was moaning in her sleep again. Every time she did, Matin tensed and his breathing stopped for a moment. It sounded absolutely horrible. Three days had passed, and Marianne was still clinging to life.
With her strong willpower and possibly a little help from his doctoring skills, Matin was beginning to have hope that she would survive.
"Don't worry," he whispered one day while stroking her sweaty hair. "You'll get through this, like you always do. Nothing ever keeps you down for long."
Every morning after a night filled with bad dreams, more herbs would appear in his satchel. He suspected somebody was sneaking in and putting them there, but who on earth would be doing such a thing? He neither had the energy nor willpower to find out though.
Satchel full once again, he treated his mother. Marianne was still asleep, and while her fever had improved somewhat, that awful smell of rot only seemed to get worse. Grimacing, he made his way over to his bag and pulled out a piece of paper and some ink. Whoever was helping them at night, he wanted to convey something to them.
The next day Matin awoke to sounds of frantic coughing and fast breathing. Jumping to his feet, he rushed over to his mother's side.
Marianne's skin was pale, and her eyes were wide as she struggled for breath. This didn't make any sense. Her condition had been improving. Why was she deteriorating now, of all times? He pulled back the blanket and let out a scream of shock.
For some reason, despite the freezing cold, flies had infested her wound, little black dots crawling around the sea of red. The bandage he had carefully tied around her was loose and did little to help. Crying, he swatted them around to no avail. Then, unable to stand the smell anymore, he turned away as his stomach emptied.
Staring at the dirtied stone floor, Matin could only cry out his frustrations.
"Matin."
At first, he thought he had only imagined the whisper, but when it came again, he turned to find his mother looking at him. She was smiling at him. Her face was completely different to how it usually was, all sunken and bony. He hated how it scared him so.
"It's alright. You will…be fine. Mother knows you will."
Crawling over to her, he took her hand. It felt cold to the touch.
"Mother," he said, all other words failing him.
"Don't you worry." She said as she lifted her other hand and wiped a tear from his cheek. "You're a good boy. A much better person than I ever was."
Matin shook his head. He didn't understand why she was telling him all this.
"Please rest," he insisted, his voice breaking into a sob.
Marianne laughed, though it sounded more like a raspy cough than anything resembling mirth.
"Evelyn's do not rest. Far too many people need us to be perfect. They rely on us to-"
Not trusting himself to speak, Matin simply nodded.
"Most of all… never forget how much I love you."
Something about the stories he had read, many of them given to him by Dean, made Matin think that his mother would die soon after those words. Her eyelids would close and her hand would slip out of his in dramatic fashion. Of course, things were never supposed to be that clean.
Marianne lingered for an entire day after that, though she did not speak another word and barely held onto consciousness. The sickeningly sweet smell of rot continued to fill the room as she struggled to breathe. She was in pain, so much pain, and the herbs no longer did anything for her.
Then, finally. Sometime on the fifth day after the wound was inflicted, Marianne finally found peace.
Standing over his mother's body, Matin expected to break down in tears, to fall to his knees and never move again. In the end, all he could do was stare blankly at her. She did not look at all beautiful in death. Her expression was twisted in pain, and her face was gaunt.
He simply stood there, looking down at her. He didn't even notice when a small, relieved smile appeared on his face.